


Infectious Touch

by Unquiet_Words



Series: Requested Works [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubcon/Noncon, M/M, Suggested incestuous feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20119027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unquiet_Words/pseuds/Unquiet_Words
Summary: Madara wins the final war, and the world is his - as well as all that is in it.Tobirama does not hate this as he should.





	Infectious Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunesongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesongs/gifts).

No matter how Tobirama wished he could move, the chakra rods made that impossible. They held his wrists still, crossed over his head and pinned into the dust and dirt. Held his feet and legs apart where they stuck him to the ground, even his head firmly set in position, Tobirama unable to so much as turn his face away as he was forced to watch his brother watch him.

With his chakra suppressed to nothing, there was little else he could pay attention to. Not the settling dust over the battlefield. Not the tailed beasts screaming their defeat in the distance, nor the fires burning, their ashes falling about them. Since the edo tensei didn’t truly bring one back to life he couldn’t even really focus on the one currently using his body, only aware it was happening - able to feel the hands gripping his thighs like a vice, the cock burying itself further and further into him, all without truly _feeling_ any of it at all.

He could feel Hashirama’s stare, though. Could feel it burning as his brother watched Madara fucked him into the ground, celebrating his victory with whatever spoils he saw fit to give himself.

Only a few yards away from them, Hashirama couldn’t move either. The same chakra rods were pinning him in place, his body positioned and unable to twist or turn away - but his head. Hashirama’s head, unlike Tobirama’s, had nothing keeping it in place.

And yet Hashirama had not torn his eyes off of what was happening to his little brother. Not when his best friend had pinned him down, not when his pants had been torn from his body. And not now, while Madara took pleasure from his body.

At first, Hashirama had been horrified. Furious on his brother’s behalf. The lack of feeling made Tobirama hardly care what Madara wanted to do to him - there was no pain, no real mortification over being fucked by the man that had near single handedly taken out the shinobi’s world force. Only quiet acceptance that this was happening, and that there was nothing to be done about it anyway - but Hashirama had fought as best he could and _begged_ Madara to stop, to not touch his precious brother in such an intimate fashion, to not hurt him in such a way despite knowing first hand that neither of them could feel any pain at all.

That hadn’t lasted long. Not once Madara had pushed into Tobirama’s body, the obscene skin-on-skin sounds quieting Hashirama until he was no longer protesting, no longer glaring at his best friend or trying to look away. His gaze had stayed focused just passed Tobirama’s own, his mouth open ever so slightly as something like shame colored his face darker and had him panting.

Madara didn’t try to quiet his pleasure. Out of the three of them, he was the only one breathing with necessity, the only one able to _feel_, and it seemed to be a point of pride he wanted to drill into them as he drove his cock into one of his oldest adversaries.

Even if he’d currently been alive, Tobirama’s passage wouldn’t have been sensitive enough to feel Madara’s seed spill inside of him. It didn’t mean he couldn’t tell the instant Madara did, the sharp and fast thrusts stuttering in his release, the man grunting and panting as he coated his insides.

Hashirama could tell too. From his movements perhaps, though more than likely by the way Madara stilled after he was done. Either way a small sort of noise escaped him, the type Tobirama had never heard from his brother before, his mouth parted and eyes glazed over with something he couldn’t quite put a name to.

After a few moments of stillness, Madara slid out of him. Hashirama whimpered once more while all Tobirama did was lay there and wonder. Wonder why Madara bothered to try to hurt Hashirama _this_ way, of all ways. Why he himself didn’t actually care that it had happened at all - was it because this wasn’t technically his own body? Because he wasn’t really alive?

Not that he ever expected to know any sort of answers. The war had been lost. Madara had won. Whatever happened from then on was what the man saw fit to allow, and Tobirama knew any request or questions of his would not be high up on Madara’s list. It made it hardly unexpected whenever his consciousness faded entirely not long after, Madara taking over the edo tensei to the point where his personality was nonexistent and Tobirama knew nothing of the world from then on.

Until he woke up once more.

Air felt like a blessing filling his lungs - _filling_ them, almost to the point of burning, as if it was needed and yet he hadn’t for so long - Tobirama gasping in a sort of relief, his heart beating fast in his chest. His eyes watered as he strained to keep them open, blood rushing in his ears and tunneling all other sounds that might have been able to reach them.

Heart beating. Lungs desperate for oxygen. Blood pounding in his veins and causing his limbs to tingle.

Was he….alive?

The edo tensei had felt nothing like this. It had felt distant, like a body he controlled from elsewhere, his soul only having a cursory attachment to the hands and limbs he had been forced to command. But this, this felt as if he were _there_. More than just there - every part of his being screamed that he was alive, _alive alive_, mind reeling as he tried to orient himself back into the physical world.

Overwhelming. After being dead for a century, nothing about life felt familiar. His whole being felt new, senses flooded and overloaded with input despite the dark room he was in, the quiet of it all, how all he could feel was the clothing covering his skin and the cool metal biting into his wrists and ankles.

Metal. Binds that kept him still. He blinked as much of the moisture away from his eyes as he could, tilting his head back to stare up at the chains holding his wrists above his head.

He wasn’t supposed to be alive. Had meant to stay dead in the afterlife, or wherever he’d been in-between life and here. Who had bothered to bring him back in such a manner - to chain him and strip him of his chakra?

His mind couldn’t quiet itself enough to think of a potential answer. It was a touch of luck for him, then, that he didn’t have to wait long for his captor to make themselves known. A door behind him creaked open, the light pooling in and casting his shadow against the far wall. When it shut, the room was plunged into darkness once more, footsteps echoing off the stone flooring before they came to a halt not very far from where Tobirama hung from the ceiling.

A light clicked on. The room was no longer dark but nor was it bright, more lit than whatever outside light source had given him before. He tried to turn his head to see whoever had joined him but his shoulders got in the way, no amount of straining gaining him any insight into who might be standing behind him.

“Being chained up suits you, Tobirama.”

That voice was one he could recognize anywhere. It sent a vulnerable shiver down his spine, his breath shuddering as he remembered the last time he’d heard it. Except it hadn’t been words that had been seared into his undead memory - instead, it had been moans, quiet huffs of breath that almost sounded like panting, deep and low laughter as the man had taken what he wanted from his pinned and borrowed body.

Madara had the rinnegan. It gave him the ability to bring the dead back to life, but unlike the edo tensei it _truly_ brought them back. Not just souls tied to a body made of dirt and sand, not needing air nor water nor food nor blood to move. No, the rinnegan could breathe life back into a long-departed person, one whose time had ended and soul had left for whatever lands it belonged to.

Of all the people he could have brought back… Tobirama strained once more to try to catch a glimpse of the madman, wondering what his fate was to be in his hands. With how their encounters had gone so far, there was little telling what he might want, what he might do next. But why bother with _him_, of all people, when his focus had always been elsewhere - on Hashirama, on the village, on the children who had tried to face him in the final war. Not once had his focus ever been on Tobirama before.

Unless Hashirama was here again, though Tobirama doubted it. He knew his brother more than anyone else ever had (much to Madara’s disappointment, he was sure. At one point the man had longed to be Hashirama’s closest ally, the one the Senju heir could trust and rely on the most), and if he was anywhere within eyesight or earshot he would have been instantly blabbering on about how Madara could still _change_, could still go back and fix all the wrongs into rights.

Believing until the very end that his best friend could be saved. Tobirama wished he could have such blind faith in the good of the world.

“I wonder what decides what state you’ll come back in.” As Madara mused that aloud, his footsteps and voice drew closer, until it sounded like he was just behind Tobirama. “No armor, no fur pelt. I’m not sure I ever saw you in such casual wear very often.”

Tobirama had to tell the scientific side of his brain to cool it. It didn’t matter how intriguing the question might be (what might decide what clothing one came back in, what age, their state of health and well-being), he had to focus on what Madara might want with him. Perhaps the revenge he never got to take for Izuna’s passing? He’d never seemed very interested in doing so, the only revenge sought was to show Hashirama the pain of losing one’s remaining sibling (a pain Tobirama himself discovered later in life, when he was left alone to care for the village that had been his brother’s dream).

“You always had something smart to say. Some quip or another to prove your intelligence, how superior you were to those around you.” A hand touched between his shoulder blades, running down and across his back, across his side as Madara came to stand in front of him. His hair black and wild, the purple of his rinnegan shinning in the lowlight, some emotion touching his face that Tobirama couldn’t name. “Lost those words today, have you?”

Madara had lost his sanity. It had been easy enough to tell that during their battle - but it wasn’t something that Tobirama could truly blame him for. Spending near a hundred years with a dark being poisoning one’s mind would drive anyone to the brink, and Madara’s mind had already been turning sour back before the village had ever been founded.

It was still there. The touch of madness widening his eyes, lips twitching up into a grin that showed too many teeth. His tone a little more gleeful than it should have been.

Mad captors were always the worst. One could never truly expect what was in store for them, and though Tobirama had known Madara for months before he left Konoha (months that he had unashamedly spent spying on him, making sure the Uchiha truly had changed his ways - and unsurprised when it turned out he hadn’t) none of his previously gathered information could help him then.

The war had been lost. Thousands dead, thousands more left to be drained by the great chakra tree. Madara had won and taken what spoils he wanted, and then had let their souls return to the afterlife.

“For what purpose have you brought me here?” Normal counter interrogation methods hardly mattered in a world where he’d already lost. Where there was no turning back. Tobirama had never been much of a pessimist but he’d always been a realist; it didn’t matter if he talked or not, if he answered any question Madara asked him or not.

“What purpose,” Madara echoed back at him, the gloved hand running up to pick at the mesh chainmail just visible under his kimono shirt. “For whatever purpose I see fit.”

Nose twitching with irritation, Tobirama glowered down at the Uchiha, hating how the man always seemed to loom over him despite being a head shorter. He’d always hated that habit of his, speaking as if above those around him (a habit he’d really only had during the wars, having left it behind for the most part during the short months of peace between them).

He was distracted away from the nothing statement by Madara’s hand, fingers running slow down his clothed chest, stopping to pick at the tie keeping it shut. Madara cocked his head as he played with the ends of the bow, ever so slowly pulling one until it slipped loose, fingers working the knot open next and letting Tobirama’s shirt slip open.

It was cool in the room - cool enough that Tobirama suspected they might be underground - and that was only compounded by the metal mesh now exposed to the air. He shivered as he watched Madara watching him, wondering what might be going through the other’s head to have him so _focused_ on his body.

A stray thought tried to catch his attention - _chakra rods holding his body still, dust in the air around them, Madara groaning low as Hashirama panted on the ground not a dozen feet away_ \- but Tobirama shook it away, knowing that Madara couldn’t be wanting such things from him at that moment. Not without Hashirama there to watch them; it would be ultimately pointless.

Then why did Madara have a hand on him at all? A hand that was now slipping under the mesh, soothing over his abdomen, making Tobirama swallow against the feel of soft leather against his skin. It felt too sensitive, as if coming back had set all of his nerves on overdrive, the barest touch feeling more intimate than anything else he’d ever experienced in life.

When Madara’s hand slid up to his chest, brushing over one of his nipples, Tobirama gasped. Blinked up at the ceiling rapidly as he tried to tell himself not to focus on the jolt of pleasure that sent through him, tilting his head back down to stare at Madara in confusion - who only kept his eyes on where his hand was traveling, fire hot gaze making Tobirama feel like he was wearing much less than he actually was.

“What are you doing?”

The question had Madara’s gaze flickering towards his, before it returned right back to watching his own movements. “I suppose telling you won’t ruin all of the fun…though a genius like yourself should be able to guess rather easily.” With a swipe of his tongue, Madara wet his lips, trailing his hand down lower and lower until he had hooked his index finger into the waistband of Tobirama’s pants.

His breathing hitched as Madara gave it a tug, not enough to pull it off, just playing with the edge of his clothes. Taking his time with what Tobirama was almost too nervous to admit to.

But…what purpose would that serve? He looked passed Madara to the empty cell around them. Nothing but almost stereotypical gray bricks around them, spare chains against parts of the wall, broken cuffs laying on the floor that were left to rust over an indeterminate amount of time.

No one else was here. _Hashirama_ wasn’t here, for Madara to torture or torment through taking pleasure from Tobirama’s body - so why was he playing with his clothes? Running his hands over whatever skin was already showing, leaving Tobirama shivering from the feel of leather against his newly reawakened flesh.

It was so quiet in the cell that Tobirama thought Madara might hear his nervous swallowing, the way his heart rate had already picked up. Telling if he’d noticed either noise was impossible, Madara’s focus just on where his hand was moving back down from Tobirama’s chest towards the hem of his pants, purple eyes darkening with something Tobirama had no name for.

His hand didn’t stop this time. Not until it was far passed where one might consider it socially acceptable, running light over his most private area. Madara ignored the surprised gasp and subsequent shivering as Tobirama tried to wrap his mind around _why_ this was happening - and why he could _feel_ so much of it now.

In life, he’d never been one to search out carnal pleasures, hardly ever even taking himself in hand. Only in death had he experienced someone else’s hand, _Madara’s_ hand, and it hadn’t felt anything like what he was feeling now.

“Madara…?” He couldn’t exactly shift away from him, not with how he was hanging.

“Have you not figured it out on your own yet?” Madara tsked as if disappointed in him. “If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d ask if you were a virgin. You’re certainly blushing like one.”

“I know _what_ you’re doing, just-” Tobirama had to bite his lip against the jolt of sensation through his body, trying and failing to ignore how Madara kept _touching him_ \- only barely, only just, little to no friction due to the glove and pants and undergarments between them but somehow it was more than enough for his cock to be twitching to life. “What’s the point?” He managed to bite out the words without any unsightly noises, but it was a close thing, his body lighting on fire without his permission as the almost soft caress of his nether regions.

“The point?” Madara cocked his head, studying his body’s reactions. “What point beyond desire does one need for such things?”

_Desire_? Tobirama jerked whenever Madara gripped him through his pants, feeling his cheeks burn even hotter. Part of him didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know what Madara meant, but curiosity had always been his strongest vice. “Why would you desire this?” _With me_ went unsaid, weighing heavy in the air with its obvious absence.

Hashirama had always been the one Madara was inexplicably drawn to, and vice versa. A pair that no one could come between, no family nor friend nor foe. So why would he bother bringing _him_ back instead of his brother - or _with_ his brother, to torment Hashirama as he had before?

“It was always you.”

While Tobirama puzzled over that statement, Madara slid the tips of his fingers under his waistband, tugging his pants down to the middle of his thighs and exposing his undergarments - as well as the rather obvious bulge growing from the soft caressing and groping.

Madara didn’t leave him puzzling long, elaborating his point as he pulled at the ties of his fuindoshi ever so slowly. “You were always the one who refused to notice me. Through your distrust, your _disgust_ for me, always focused on the parchment you deemed more worthy of your attention. As if I only existed when I was wrong, never there unless I shouldn’t be.”

When his fuindoshi slipped free, falling to the floor and exposing him, Tobirama flushed harder. It was the first time he’d ever been so bare in front of another for such a purpose, at least in life. He’d gone to onsen and public bath houses his whole life but being bare there had felt natural and innocent, no embarrassment or shame over his body as he felt then.

And Madara wasn’t even touching him yet. Tobirama felt the urge to fidget under the intense gaze, wishing he could cover himself or turn away or do _something_ to make the other stop staring at him.

“Did you truly never notice? Were you really so absorbed by everything else that you never felt my eyes on you?” Madara took him in hand and Tobirama whimpered, jerking away as best he could despite how honest to the gods _good_ it felt.

Everything felt good. Being able to breathe felt nearly euphoric, the way his heart was pumping in his chest making him feel light despite the way his body was dragging him down. And if those _innocent_ feelings were already too much, every caress or full _stroke_ of Madara’s hand was far beyond what Tobirama thought he could take.

Tobirama bit back a whimper whenever Madara caressed his sack, wanting nothing more than to rut into his gloved hand. It felt nothing like touching himself ever had. He’d never taken the time to explore himself in such a slow fashion, trail fingers down towards his perineum and back up to the tip of his cock, the whole while feeling the heat of Madara’s gaze on him.

_Did you truly never notice_? Tobirama swallowed against the pleasure shooting through his being, trying to think past the desperate need clawing at his mind. Had this been what Madara had wanted? All those times he’d caught the man glaring, his eyes full of something dark and dangerous, something he’d associated with hate and rage… Had he had it wrong the whole time? Put the wrong label on the man’s burning passions?

When Madara pulled his hand away, Tobirama was left wanting. Struggling against his bonds, ashamed of how desperately he _needed_ the touch, trying to mask his struggling as an attempt to escape and not one to bring the pleasure back. It was too much, had been too much, but without it the room was cold and something in his gut was coiled up with no chance of release and _he needed Madara to touch him and finish what he’d started_-

Madara chuckled, dark and low. It drew Tobirama’s attention right back to him and away from his own struggling. Purple eyes met his own, something familiar and so different from the typical madness darkening them.

“You kept me watching and waiting for far too long, Senju. I think I’m going to rather enjoy taking you apart.”

Nothing about that should have made him shiver in anything but fear. The man standing in front of him, staring up at him as he all but dangled from the ceiling, was _dangerous_. More dangerous than anyone else Tobirama had ever met, and that had been before he’d thought the man capable of destroying the world.

So why did he want to know how Madara planned to take him apart?

The first step was apparently ridding him of his clothes. Tobirama found himself shivering, fully and wholly bare to the cold world around them - the world that was only Madara and this room, because the rest was _owned_ by him.

He was part of the world. Part of the last, part of what Madara had conquered and taken for his own. Tobirama tugged as best he could on the chains holding him up, pushing down at the same time to feel his toes barely brush against the floor.

No control. No ability to fight back or choose what happened to him. At the whims of a madman who took what he wanted without mercy or shame.

Madara walked around him, letting his gloved hand drag across his body. Over his side, to his back and down. Down and down until Tobirama had to bite his lip, feeling soft leather against his hole.

It shouldn’t make him flush. He’d been fucked by this very man - out in the open, on a battlefield, where everyone _including his own brother_ could watch it happen - but it hadn’t felt like this. Hadn’t felt like anything at all, really, beyond the simple knowledge that it was happening.

“Did you let anyone else fuck you?”

The question made Tobirama sputter, trying and failing to look back at the man currently massaging his most private of areas. “T-that’s not - it’s not your business!”

“It is my business.” Tobirama let out a deep breath whenever Madara pulled his hand away, only to suck it back in sharply whenever it returned wet and cold. “Everything about you is my business - you belong to me now, after all. So, Tobirama,” Madara leaned up against his back, wrapping a hand around the front of his throat as he pushed one finger into his hole and made him cry out softly, “Did you ever let anyone else fuck you?”

“No.” He’d never let anyone touch him in any fashion, far too focused on the war first, then helping his brother with the village, then _leading_ the village. Pleasure had never been something he’d had the luxury of allowing himself to indulge in, and for the first time he could see it. Could see why people would search this out, because Madara had hardly even begun and Tobirama was already shaking from how much he wanted more.

A single finger inside of him. Then two, then three. It was too much but Tobirama couldn’t move, couldn’t try to retreat from them as they stretched him open, couldn’t escape the deep voice whispering in his ear, the hand at his throat - like a threat, a promise, making the pace of his heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“You’re mine,” Madara whispered - to him, to the world, to everything and nothing - as he slipped his fingers out and left Tobirama far too empty. “And I’m going to keep you.”

Tobirama had never touched himself in such a way before. Not even for experimentation. The taste he’d received on the battlefield had not in the slightest prepared him for how _sensitive_ that area of his body was, enough so that it already felt like _too much too much_ before Madara had done much more than stretch him open.

Feeling the man’s cock against him, then, was beyond too much. The head of Madara’s length pressed against him and Tobirama shook, gasping out some pitiful noises as the chains rattled from his jerking. He wasn’t going to make it through this. He wasn’t sure what that meant, had no frame of reference for any of this besides the fucking he’d not felt at all, but he _knew_ he couldn’t survive if it was going to be like _this_.

_‘You’re mine’_. Madara’s whispered words echoed in the spaces between Tobirama’s breaths, quickening them. It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t survive this. Madara had defeated death and conquered the living; nothing could keep him from getting whatever he wanted.

Madara did not hold back after that. It almost came without warning, the firmer press of his cock against his entrance, the feeling of that thick head making it passed the tight ring of muscles, stretching him open and leaving him gasping as he stared up at the ceiling. There was little else he could do but _feel_ as Madara entered him and pushed further, and further and further and further, filling him in a way that made little sense when he’d never felt empty before.

It was too much. He clenched arrhythmical around the length stretching him open, not meaning to but unable to help himself, unsure of how to feel about the intrusion. Tears pearled at the corners of his eyes and fell away unnoticed in his overwhelmed state, lost just as his sense of understanding was at that moment.

Madara stilled when his still clothed hips were flush with Tobirama’s naked form, one hand still curled around Tobirama’s throat. His breath was hot against Tobirama’s ear but he barely noticed, unable to think or breathe or _anything_ passed the feeling of Madara inside of him.

“You feel even better the second time, Tobirama.”

He whimpered at the - what was it, exactly? Praise? Mockery? Tobirama couldn’t think clearly enough to analyze the tone, but the words made him shiver anyway, a sick sort of pleasure being taken from being told such a vulgar thing.

When Madara started to pull out, taking that feeling of fullness Tobirama was just getting used to with him, he almost begged him not to. It was beneath him to beg for anything, especially such a thing (_especially_ _from_ _Madara_), but it was still a close thing because he had just gotten used to it, just started to understand for a moment or two why some might consider this a good pass time-

-but then Madara was pushing back into him again as if he could read Tobirama’s thoughts, as if he knew that Tobirama didn’t want this to be over yet. He shook as he felt that thickness stretch him open again, hating that he loved the feel of it inside of him.

This was the last act that Tobirama should ever enjoy. Being fucked slow by his oldest enemy, in the depths of some dungeon or another, after the world’s end and everything he’d ever fought for in his life had been lost. But what purpose was there to fight for anymore? What reason did he have to deny to himself that he _did_ enjoy this: how deep Madara’s voice was as he whispered filth in his ear, the friction of each thrust into him, the hand resting against his throat, the shameful sounds of his own pleasure being torn from him.

Tobirama liked it all. It was overwhelming in the best and worst of ways but he liked it, loved it, wished that he could reach the floor and push back and feel _more_.

“Do you like what I’m doing to you? The way it feels to have me inside of you?” Madara jerked his hips forward harshly, causing Tobirama to cry out at the surprising jolt of pleasure as the man’s cock brushed against _something_ in him he had no previous knowledge of. The chains holding him still rattled with the movement, his breath catching in his throat at the threat of a hand at it, and all of that together along with the pleasure coursing through him had something wet dripping slowly down his cock.

Was he going to cum from this? He felt his face burn as Madara continued to drive his length further and harder into him, his lower lip caught between his teeth to try to hold back the sounds that wanted to be loose. This was not something he should find pleasure from - but he _did_. His body _sang_ from the touch and attention, the coil in his gut getting tighter the more that low voice whispered darkly in his ear.

There was no holding back his cries whenever Madara finally brought him over the edge, one stroke too many against whatever torture spot the Uchiha had found inside of him toppling him over into white bliss. His breathing ragged, his wrists chaffed, his cock spent as he hung there, overloaded with pleasure and then some as Madara _kept going_, kept fucking him and whispering in his ear and holding his throat even though Tobirama couldn’t take any more.

Eventually, after Tobirama was ready to beg for Madara to stop, to give him a chance to breathe, to do _anything_ besides keep feeling - _eventually_, Madara’s thrusts stuttered. The Uchiha’s breath caught as well as his hips stilled, and even without the ability to feel it Tobirama _knew_. Knew the man had spilled into him once more, coated his passage with seed and marked him in a way no one else ever had before _besides him_.

‘_You’re mine_,’ Madara had told him, and there was nothing Tobirama could think of to disprove it. Madara owned the world now and everything in it, and if he so wanted to keep Tobirama there was nothing to stop him.

It was the knowledge that he didn’t hate it like he should that left Tobirama feeling so ashamed, whole body burning with it as Madara slid out of him, as he felt the man’s seed drip out of his stretched hole. He didn’t hate it, didn’t hate the idea of being owned, and he had all the time in Madara’s world to dwell and sink into that knowledge.


End file.
